


Calm After the Storm

by Saunter



Series: Iwaoi omegaverse [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha Iwaizumi, Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Izakaya shop owner/manager Iwaizumi, M/M, Omega Oikawa, Omegaverse, Physical therapist Oikawa, nonlinear storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5883088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saunter/pseuds/Saunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Who said I wanted you to give me sex?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calm After the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know more about the general storyline of this series, you can look at my tumblr: http://saunterfics.tumblr.com/tagged/iwaoi-ov. 
> 
> Otherwise, this chapter takes place right after Iwaizumi and Oikawa get all hot and heavy making out, until Oikawa falls into a panic attack because of how sex-repulsed he is. This is the “one week later Oikawa confronts Iwaizumi and asks him, ‘Why didn’t you text me?’”
> 
> I will be referring to each separate post to the series as "chapters," but they may not necessarily be only one chapter long. I'm marking them more as a "chapter" in their story. 
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the angst-fluff.

Iwaizumi sighs under his breath as he closes shop, preoccupied in his mind as he goes through the motions of locking up. He'd been out of it all day, but that was the pattern this past week. He feels sluggish, thinks about opening a can of cold beer when he gets home, and then shower. Today was longer than usual, given that it's the end of the week, what with everyone wanting to wind down with a mellow meal and a drink. The shop was a good kind of busy, at least. He was able to keep himself from thinking too much.

Shrugging his coat back into form, Iwaizumi straightens, then freezes. Of everything that he may have imagined, he is not prepared to see Oikawa several feet away from him, especially at this hour of night. He opens his mouth, wants to say something, _needs_ to say something, but he can't. He doesn't know what he can say to Oikawa. So he remains silent, lets Oikawa take his time. Iwaizumi just knows that if Oikawa tries to run, he won't let him. Not if he came for a purpose.

Iwaizumi is even prepared to hear Oikawa tell him he can't do this anymore, and Iwaizumi would accept. Because no matter how much he wants to be the one to protect Oikawa, if he alone is a source of emotional distress, he wouldn't be protecting anyone anymore. So Iwaizumi clenches his fists inside his coat, waits. Forces himself to remain rational.

“Why didn't you text me?” Oikawa says, voice cutting through the cold air. It's the lowest Iwaizumi's ever heard that bubbly, excitable voice go, and he doesn't like it. That's not how Oikawa should sound. Oikawa should be happy, jumpy, sparkly.

Iwaizumi steps forward, cautious, as if Oikawa would flee if he's spooked. But Oikawa's only staring at him with what Iwaizumi presumes are wet eyes, and he walks until he's in front of Oikawa. He places a hand at his waist, glances up slightly to look into Oikawa's eyes.

Yeah, they were wet.

Even so, he says, “How have you been?” voice soft, so soft it’s like a fluff of clouds fluttering onto cotton, under his hush of breath. He doesn’t have the words to ask anything else.

His fingers twitch at Oikawa's side, feels the cold that's seeped into the fabric of the coat. He keeps his hand gentle, holds himself back from squeezing, gripping, putting any pressure into their point of contact. He wants Oikawa to know that he won't push, and that Oikawa can choose to push him away. But Oikawa doesn't. Doesn't pull away from Iwaizumi, and in that small moment, Iwaizumi feels his heart soar.

“Why didn't you call?” Oikawa's voice sounds like it's on the edge of breaking. Iwaizumi wishes he could forget everything and just pull this child of a man close, take him into his arms and bundle him up into the sheets.

His eyes soften as they keep their gaze on Oikawa, whose pout seems to have found its way onto his expression out of habit, and if this was any other moment, Iwaizumi might have laughed.

But this isn't any other moment; this is _the_ moment. The moment that determines whether Iwaizumi gets to see those eyes, that pout, those features again, another time, another day. His instincts tell him so, and he is not going to question it.

So he lifts his arm slowly, enough for Oikawa to register the motion, enough for Oikawa to react if he wants to. But he doesn't, as Iwaizumi cups his cheek, a ghost of a touch, and Iwaizumi almost breathes a sigh of relief. He holds it back, controls himself. This is way too early to be relieved.

“I didn't know if I should,” he murmurs, thumb brushing once, uncontrolled. Reflexive. Instinctive.

Oikawa's lips tremble, and that's the only warning there is before he's bawling, arms thrashing to push at Iwaizumi, not really to push him away, but also to keep him at bay. To create impact, however so, as if there is no other outlet for Oikawa to release the emotions inside him--like crying isn’t enough. That’s the first time Iwaizumi sees Oikawa’s eyes that night. When he’s crying and angry and at his wit’s end with Iwaizumi.

“Iwa-chan you idiot! Stupid! Idiot!” He's thumping his fists against Iwaizumi, the hits solid though weak, and Iwaizumi can still feel the slight tremble from those fists.

And Iwaizumi takes it, lets Oikawa hit him. Soon enough though, he's grabbing at Oikawa's wrists, halting the barrage of punches, and pulls him closer just a fraction as he takes a step forward. “I know,” he murmurs, quiet but clear between the two of them. “I know.”

Oikawa's not looking into his eyes, but Iwaizumi is. Iwaizumi stares right at Oikawa, his grip a little too tight on Oikawa's wrists but he doesn't notice, just says, “I'm sorry.” Repeats, pulls Oikawa a little closer, voice softer. “I'm sorry.”

He feels Oikawa tremble against him, and he swears this would be funny if only it’s a different time; this tall, lanky, childish man crying into his shoulder. He could feel Oikawa’s fists clench around his shirt, his tears dampening his collar, chest expanding erratically against his. “I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi murmurs into Oikawa’s hair, lips pressed against his head, a phantom kiss. He unconsciously rubs his thumb along Oikawa’s waist, palm definitely pressing into him now.

Oikawa doesn’t say anything, just hiccups into his shoulder. Iwaizumi holds him tighter.

He doesn’t know how long they stand like that for, but it’s when Oikawa quiets down to the occasional sniffle that Iwaizumi squeezes him with both arms, shifting his balance to straighten up in accommodation of the weight of Oikawa leaning heavily into him. He nuzzles his face into Oikawa’s hair, breathes him in, feeling warmth wash through him, thinking how much he’s missed this smell. He smiles wryly at how easily Oikawa’s scent can get him to relax. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice coming out raspier than he expects, “come up to my place.”

He plays with the ends of the hair brushing against his hand, misses how soft it is against the pads of his fingertips.

Oikawa nods into his shoulder.

When they get home, Iwaizumi herds Oikawa into the bath first. He can hear Oikawa stumbling over his words, trying to say something, but Iwaizumi refuses to listen. “We can talk tomorrow,” he says simply, shoving Oikawa onward.

He’s patting down the comforter when Oikawa pads into the room, looking like a confused pup who doesn’t know what to do except follow his human. Iwaizumi chuckles wryly, shaking his head when apprehension falls over Oikawa’s eyes at the sound, and sits at the edge of the bed. He pats next to him, says, “C’mere.”

There's so much he could say and so much he could do in this moment, with Oikawa right in front of him, that Iwaizumi does nothing but chide about Oikawa's sloppy self-care. “God, do you know how to dry your hair?” he asks, grabbing the towel to rub Oikawa’s hair furiously.

Oikawa makes a noise, but it grows heavily quiet once Iwaizumi stops, takes the sight of him in. He inhales slowly, composing himself.

For once, Oikawa’s quiet. Stares back at Iwaizumi, and it seems like he doesn’t have a word to say.

The warm hue of light reflecting off his face softens his features, and Iwaizumi can’t help but bring his hand to Oikawa’s face. His eyes are swollen, skin red from rubbing. Iwaizumi brushes his thumb under an eye, tilting Oikawa’s chin up as he memorizes this face, heart pained that he had to be part of the reason why it’s become like this. He leans in, enough for them to feel each other’s breaths, and asks, “May I?”

He hears Oikawa take in a shuttering breath, shoulders tense. Oikawa nods, fingers curling against his own thighs, and Iwaizumi pulls him in.

It hasn’t been all that long, but his lips feel like they’ve missed Oikawa for months. He presses forward, arm winding around Oikawa’s waist and opens his mouth, surprised that he wants to taste Oikawa so badly that his heart is beating out of his chest. He lets out a sigh, fingers tightening into Oikawa’s warm skin.

But then Oikawa’s tense, catalyzing the panic that rises in Iwaizumi’s stomach. Shit, shit―he’s fucked up―he probably shouldn’t be pushing this far right now―not when the reason they’re in this situation was because he was too hasty―fuck―

And he’s jerking back, hands pulling away, until he’s grasped tightly by the wrist, yanked forward. His glance shoots down, mind wiped blank. He tries to speak, perhaps to apologize, but then their eyes meet and Oikawa’s got a hand on the collar of his shirt and his face is so close―so close―and he smells―so. Fucking. Nice.

Their lips meld together again before Iwaizumi understands why, but his back is against the bed, his hands lost in fabric and soft, soft, damp hair, and he doesn’t know if he just moaned or groaned at the impact of the mattress. Oikawa’s kissing him, nipping at his lips, with Iwaizumi following his lead as his mind slowly catches up. His arms are winding around Oikawa, pulling him in, finding their way to where they should be, around Oikawa’s back, pressing them together.

He’s kissing Oikawa, drowning in his taste, sucking on his tongue and holding him tight, wondering if he’s ever felt like this before―this possessive, protective, obsessive. Oikawa’s scent drives him crazy even when it’s overpowered by the strong, fresh waft of soap and warm water. His hand’s in tufts of brown hair, grabbing on by the fistful. When Oikawa finally pulls away from him, lips bruised and wet, Iwaizumi glances up fondly, heart pounding from just that one kiss. “Hey,” he says into the air between them, a smile in his voice.

There’s nothing to follow that; he just wanted to speak, to hear his own voice to determine if he is actually conscious. He's running a palm along the length of Oikawa's back, his subconscious desperate to keep touching the man.

“I feel gross,” he says eventually, after stroking Oikawa's hair from his face, taking note of how he looks without bangs. “Been a long day. Need a bath.” He brushes hair out of Oikawa’s face another time. “Drink that glass of water first and then go to bed. I’ll take the couch.” He slips out of bed before Oikawa can answer, ruffling his hair before heading straight to the shower.

 

 

 _Fuck_ , Oikawa thinks. _Fuck_. He sips at the water, glances at the door, looks back at the bed. He questions whether Iwaizumi really was there just a second ago, whether he is still sane or not, imagining all this up.

He plops backwards onto the bed and curls under the covers. This is Iwa-chan’s scent, though, and there’s no way Oikawa could dream _this_ up, because he’s bombarded by it at every turn. The warm, heady, _Iwa-chan_ scent that smells _so safe._ Oikawa’s eyelids fall heavily; he can’t explain why he always feels so comfortably sleepy when he’s wrapped up in the smell of Iwa-chan. Last week feels surreal, now that he thinks about it, because this moment is the most relaxed Oikawa swears he’s ever felt.

“Iwa-chan…” he mumbles, face buried into the sheets, the comforter wrapped around him so tightly it may as well be his cocoon.

There’s a click of a lock down the hall and Oikawa jumps. Throwing off the covers, he sits straight up, legs folding under him, with eyes wide on the open doorway as he waits for Iwaizumi’s silhouette to walk by.

“Oh, you’re still up?”

Iwaizumi’s standing at the door, a drop of water slipping off his short hair, donned in baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Oikawa feels his heart jump to his throat, and for once in his life, he doesn’t have the usual string of words ready on his tongue or the energy to plaster on his usual smile.

“Want the light off?”

Iwa-chan motions to flip the switch, but Oikawa finds his voice and shouts, “Don’t!”

Iwa-chan raises an eyebrow at him, an amused quirk at his lips. “What, don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark?”

Oikawa manages a gasp of offense. “Mean! Iwa-chan always makes fun of me. Mean!”

Iwa-chan shrugs easily. “You can’t blame me, since you’re still obsessed with plastering glow-in-the-dark stars all over your ceiling.”

“I’ll have you know that it’s more than randomly sticking them on my ceiling! They’re arranged in constellations!” Oikawa’s on his knees on the mattress, arms akimbo in a picture of offense, and it’s the first time in a while that he’s heard Iwaizumi laugh. It winds down, and they’re just frozen in place, staring at each other again.

“Well, if you need anything, I’ll be in the living room.”

“Wait, Iwa-chan―”

Iwaizumi turns to look back at him, expression almost _confused_ , and Oikawa wants to laugh and hide at the same time.

“Would it be…” He almost averts his eyes, but fights against it because he’s not going to act like a fucking _omega_ , so he forces his eyes to stay where they are. “Could you―can you…” Shit, when is maintaining eye contact suddenly so fucking hard? He’s wringing his hands, holding back from biting down hard on his lips.  

It takes a long minute before Oikawa’s face scrunches as if in pain, lips pulled down in a frowning pout, and mutters, “...stay?”

The silence drags on. Oikawa swears that Iwaizumi is trying to stop his heart.

Then Iwa-chan tilts his head, says, “Huh?” extremely smoothly.

Oikawa’s eyes widen in utter exasperation. He's had enough of Iwa-chan's slowness and his own embarrassment so he spins around, brows furrowed tightly, to flop heavily back on the bed with his back to the door. “Never mind,” he grumbles, frustrated.

The room is silent again―it’s becoming a norm, Oikawa notices. He doesn’t like it. But before he knows it, Iwa-chan is hovering over him, leaning over the bed to peer at Oikawa.

“Hey,” Iwa-chan says, “I couldn’t hear you with that mumbling. What’d you want to ask?”

Oikawa tenses―Iwa-chan is too _close―_ and yanks the covers over his head. His voice comes out muffled as he shouts, “Nothing!”

He thinks he hears Iwa-chan sigh, but then the covers are taut against his fingers and there’s force fighting him. Fuck, he’s not going to lose. He latches on like his life depends on it, refusing to relent to Iwaizumi, who suddenly lets go and Oikawa’s heart drops―because is Iwa-chan just going to leave?―but then there’s weight on top of him and wiggling fingers prodding at his sides and Oikawa _screams_.

“Iwa―Iwa-chan!” He can barely get his vocal cords to form words because all he can do is scream from the attack. “Iwa-chan! Stop!”

He eventually does, but only when Oikawa is out of breath, tears glossing his vision, nose runny as his chest heaves. Oikawa blinks, finds himself pinned under Iwa-chan who looks down at him with an expression that makes Oikawa feel his cheeks heat up.

“Are you gonna talk now?” Iwa-chan’s voice sounds a little too smug, and Oikawa frowns for a quick second. He turns his head to the side and huffs.

“Oh?” Iwaizumi quips, “You wanna go again?” His fingers inch down Oikawa’s side again and Oikawa’s leg kicks in reflex.

“No! No―don’t―” He finally looks up, full pout back on his lips, and glares unhappily up at the alpha he somehow got himself entwined with. They stare at each other, Iwaizumi waiting patiently for Oikawa to repeat his sentence. Oikawa tosses his head to the other side, opens his mouth. His voice gets stuck in his throat for a second, his fingers clenching and unclenching in the air as Iwaizumi continues to pin him down with his whole body weight.

“I―was―wondering if you...can...stay,” Oikawa says, voice growing softer and softer with each word. He can’t bring himself to look at Iwaizumi, and the feeling clogs his throat, makes it hard to swallow.

“Oh.”

That’s all Iwa-chan says.

It pisses Oikawa off― _oh_ is all he has to say?--and he thrashes to throw Iwaizumi off of him. He struggled that much with getting his words out and all Iwaizumi tells him is _oh?_

“Wha-wait,” Iwa-chan says. “Wait!” And Oikawa feels stronger grips on his arms and he’s pushed down into the bed again, pinned at the wrists, forced to be face to face with Iwaizumi.

“What’s up with you?” Iwaizumi says, sounding more confused than anything. When Oikawa doesn’t move to struggle again, the grip loosens. “Hey, look at me.”

Oikawa scrunches up his face.

“Oh, my God,” Iwa-chan swears, sounding exasperated. “Oikawa, look at me.”

He refuses for a few seconds more, then begrudgingly throws his eyes over to look at Iwaizumi. With anything he could have expected, he doesn’t expect to see the softness in those perpetually scowling eyes.

“You look angry,” Iwa-chan comments, “so do you still want me here?”

Oikawa makes a face at him, just short of sticking out his tongue, and juts his lips out as he tosses his head to the other side. He’s done getting teased by Iwa-chan. All he ever does is tease him and won’t take him seriously. Oikawa may act childish, but at least he’s _enjoying_ life, unlike his stupid Iwa-chan. The stupid Iwa-chan who only ever stays all huffy and serious.

He hears a sigh above him, then shifting. He turns to watch Iwaizumi, who climbs out of bed and Oikawa thinks _fine. I can sleep alone._

Then Iwa-chan kicks at him with the heel of his foot, says, “Scooch.”

Oikawa looks at him, wide-eyed. Doesn’t register what Iwa-chan says until he sees the raise of a scowling eyebrow. Iwa-chan climbs under the covers, shoving his cold feet against the tangle of Oikawa’s legs, and Oikawa is certain that Iwa-chan purposefully poked those popsicle toes against his warm skin. He squawks.

“You’re _cold!”_ turning to Iwaizumi without thinking about it.

“Mmmh,” Iwa-chan hums, arms curling around Oikawa’s middle, wrenching him close. Iwa-chan buries his nose right into the crook of his neck and Oikawa holds back a squeak as Iwaizumi inhales deeply. Oikawa can feel the expand of Iwa-chan's chest against his back and he wiggles, slightly, to fit against Iwaizumi better. He eventually hears Iwa-chan murmur sleepily, “You smell so good,” sounding as if he is speaking to himself. The brush of breath against his neck sends shivers down Oikawa’s spine and he curls into Iwa-chan more, hands finding their way to lay atop those sturdy ones around his middle.

“When did Iwa-chan learn flattery?” he jokes, the only way he knows how to respond.

Iwaizumi doesn’t take the bait, though, and just hums again. Oikawa is jealous of how quickly Iwa-chan can fall asleep; because really, how unfair is it that he could fall asleep right when his head hits the pillow, but Oikawa has to toss and turn for hours sometimes before he can run his fingers through a sliver of unconsciousness?

He takes a deep breath, finds himself filled with the scent of Iwa-chan again, a scent that’s so safe, so solid, so secure. And maybe it’s been a long day for him, too, because he finds himself losing grip of consciousness, as well, in the arms of Iwaizumi.

 

 

The next morning, Oikawa brings it up. They're dawdling, curled up on the couch because neither of them feel awake enough to make breakfast. Or rather, they don't really have an appetite either, what with the clarity of day forcing the tension back between them. Oikawa's glad, though, that it's still easy to lean into Iwaizumi like this, that strong arm looped over his shoulder easily as he hugs his knees, coffee mug cupped in his two hands. It's probably easier to talk like this, too, when he doesn't have to look Iwa-chan in the eye. Oikawa doesn't know if he'll find the ability to speak if Iwa-chan stares at him at full attention.

Oikawa sighs, sinking further into the couch and into Iwaizumi's side, his entire body aching for the way Iwaizumi feels against him. So warm. So…comforting.

They haven't spoken since they sat down and Oikawa's in no rush to bring up what he's been thinking this past week, or maybe even longer. Because once he speaks, this will be gone. The way Iwa-chan's scent calms him, the way Iwa-chan brushes his thumb mindlessly over his shoulder, the way Iwa-chan holds him as if he is Oikawa's first line of defense.

Eventually, Oikawa speaks.

“Iwa-chan, you've been nothing but perfect to me―except for when you call me names and won't admit that I'm the most gorgeous man who has ever graced your presence―but I…” His words are jumbled, slamming together and falling at the seams as he tries to keep his voice even. “I think we should stop this.”

Oikawa feels Iwaizumi tense, feels himself follow suit. Then Iwa-chan's shifting, and shit, he's pulling away and fuck―Oikawa doesn't know if he'll still have the courage to see this to the end―

There's a squeeze on his shoulder, and Oikawa peers up under his lashes after a beat, certain that the dreadful anticipation is reflected in his eyes.

“Is that what you want?” Iwa-chan asks, hand twisting on Oikawa's shoulder to card through his hair. Oikawa wonders if there is a way to ruffle hair bittersweetly, because that's exactly what Iwa-chan's doing.

Oikawa averts his eyes, although he's not shying away from the petting. He chews his lower lip, because no, that's not what he wants, but that's what needs to be done, isn't it? “I…” he begins, then hesitates. He tries again, a breath. “I…want what's best.” Oikawa fidgets, leaning sideways to put his mug down because his fingers are twitching, itching to knead at each other.

Iwaizumi doesn't say anything for a long time, and Oikawa feels himself suffocating more and more as the tension expands, taking up all the space of Oikawa's air.

“Will that be the best for you?” Iwa-chan's voice is soft, and Oikawa grimaces.

“No,” he says, picking at his fingers. “It'll be best for you.”

The way Iwaizumi doesn't say anything for the longest time and the way Oikawa's voice disappears at the end of the sentence make Oikawa wonder if Iwa-chan just didn't hear him. But he doesn't want to say it again, so he doesn't.

“Why?”

“ _Why_ ?” Oikawa repeats incredulously. He feels his blood heat up just from thinking about why. “Iwa-chan can't you see that I can't do relationships? I can't be anyone's omega and I can't even―I can't even _stand_ just…”

“Are you talking about what happened last week?”

Oikawa's brows furrow as he finally meets Iwaizumi's eyes. How slow can Iwa-chan get?

“Was it too much? Hey, that's fine if it was. I'm sorry if I pushed too far―I…”

“No.  _ No, _ that's not it. It's not your fault it's―it's  _ me  _ and I can't give you what I should and―”

"Who said I wanted you to give me sex?”

Oikawa's stunned speechless; he didn't expect Iwaizumi to phrase it like that. Didn't expect Iwaizumi to find a problem with _that_.

“But― I―” Oikawa stutters, with Iwaizumi only giving him a look of, _‘But what?’_

“Isn't that―” The words are right at his throat but they won't come. It's so obvious, isn't it obvious? Doesn't Iwa-chan know what he means?

“I…I can't…I just can't give you that.” Oikawa's wringing his hands nervously, shoulders hunched as he closes in on himself.

“Like I said, who told you that?”

Iwa-chan's voice is harsh. It's throwing Oikawa off.

“That's…what...relationships are in this day and age. That's what it's always been.”

Iwa-chan doesn't say anything and Oikawa, with a drop in his stomach, thinks that he's finally understanding. That he can't be with Oikawa, that Oikawa won't be enough, that they should probably stop this before it gets any deeper.

“Do you want this, though?”

“That doesn't _matter_ ―”

“I want you,” Iwaizumi says, loud and clear, cutting Oikawa off. “I want _you_ , you idiot, and I don't care if we go through with sex or whatever you're thinking if you want to be with me too.” Iwaizumi's eyes flash with a scary kind of seriousness. “But stop this bullshit and just say it if you want to be just friends. I'm not good with roundabout word games.”

Oikawa's stiff. Really, fucking stiff as the muscles in his body tense, heart might as well on its way to stopping. He bites his lips, vocal cords trembling and he can't speak because he's pretty sure his voice is gone. He can only shake his head, again. His bangs fall in his face and Oikawa's glad that they're hiding his eyes. He clenches them shut.

“I don't know, I don't _know_ .” His knuckles are white from how hard he's gripping his fists. “I can't handle it if you leave me and tell me that you can't do it anymore, that I wasn't enough, that you'd rather find an _actual_ omega and that you―” He hiccups. Fuck. _Fuck._ It's not the time to be crying. _Fuck._

But Iwaizumi brushes Oikawa's bangs out of his face, tilts his chin up. “Is this okay?”

Oikawa stares blankly at Iwaizumi, eyes wet with impeding tears, lips quivering.

Iwa-chan only continues, touch gentle. “Is kissing okay?”

Then Oikawa's nodding, because yes, yes, that's okay, that's probably the only thing that's okay and for once he can tell Iwaizumi _yes_ instead of no, _wait, I…_

Iwaizumi kisses him. Iwa-chan's kissing him. Oikawa relaxes immediately into the way Iwaizumi holds him, arm around his back and hand at the back of his head and nothing more. Oikawa makes a small, pleased noise despite himself and he's returning the kiss, tongues brushing together and Iwa-chan's so warm.

Oikawa melts into him, fists unraveling to run his fingers up Iwaizumi's chest, finding hold at the front of his shirt. The way Iwaizumi kisses makes Oikawa forget how to breathe, he's so steady and strong and naturally _assertive_.

When Iwaizumi pulls back, Oikawa's head pops back and he's gasping for air, hands still clenched on Iwaizumi's shirt. It's only when Iwaizumi brings a hand up to wipe Oikawa's eyes that he realizes he's still crying, kind of, and ducks his head. It's nice, the way Iwa-chan strokes his cheek, his thumb calloused against the smooth of his skin.

“I don't care how far we go. I just want you to tell me how far I _can_ go, and what I shouldn't do. How much you can handle. Is that okay? Can you tell me that much? I don't care about anything else.”

Oikawa nods. He's not thinking, can't really think any more, just wants Iwa-chan to keep touching him gently like this.

“Good,” is all he hears before Iwa-chan's tilting his chin again. He closes his eyes, expects another kiss, but there's nothing until a warm mound presses against his forehead and his eyes shoot open to see the Adam's apple in the middle of Iwa-chan's neck and he forgets to breathe.

He feels Iwaizumi's arms, those powerful, solid arms, wrap around him and Oikawa fits himself into the crooks of his body, burying his face into Iwa-chan's neck.

“Is this okay?” is all Iwa-chan asks, again, and Oikawa nods.


End file.
